


Closing the Distance

by Vetashad



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Overthinking, Post-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Ushijima Wakatoshi, Reunions, Sickfic, Tendou Satori Needs a Hug, Tendou’s time skip profession mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26507287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vetashad/pseuds/Vetashad
Summary: Satori’s heart twisted a little. Wakatoshi had been there for the filming of his documentary, but he had said he couldn’t make the premiere the next day. It pained him that his boyfriend wouldn’t be there next to him for his so-called “big day.” It was an accomplishment: a monument to Satori’s success, but he knew he didn’t want to celebrate it alone. There would be friends and coworkers and acquaintances and old mentors there, but they weren’t people who really got him. Satori had left all of those people behind in Japan.orTendou Satori gets in his own head over things that turn out just fine ;)
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 171





	Closing the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> This is post time skip and canon-compliant!! wow!!! i never write that!! but this was really fun so i hope you enjoy!!
> 
> It’s also shorter than what I have been writing because I wanted to practice writing at zine fic length!! ;)
> 
> tw/ vomiting/throwing up  
> don’t know if you guys want to be warned about this and it’s not too graphic but it’s there
> 
> Find me on Twitter at [@vetashad](https://twitter.com/vetashad)
> 
> (and don’t forget to comment and tell me what you thought!!! i LOVE to hear your thoughts!!!!)

The sun was setting rapidly, splashing color across the sky, from the clear, French daytime blue to vibrant pinks, reds, and oranges, to finally, a muted indigo as the stars appeared in the sky. It was that time that the moon was rising, but the sun’s light had not yet died; it still poured through the paneled glass balcony doors, illuminating Satori’s little apartment.

Satori hummed to himself, slowly melting a square of chocolate, of his own brand and making, and milk together in a pot on the stove. No at-home texture or taste testing, no working after hours because he got kicked out of the kitchen for staying too long, he was simply making himself a mug of hot chocolate to enjoy curled up on his couch before he turned in for the night. 

He opened a cabinet above the stove, continuing to stir absentmindedly, and frowned. He could sprinkle in some cinnamon. 

Or…he looked to his balcony where a potted mint plant sat. It was a somewhat pitiful size for how long he had been taking care of it, but it was a gift from Wakatoshi, so he couldn’t let it die even if it didn’t want to thrive.

Satori’s heart twisted a little. Wakatoshi had been there for the filming of his documentary, but he had said he couldn’t make the premiere tomorrow. It pained him that his boyfriend wouldn’t be there next to him for his so-called “ _big day_.” It _was_ an accomplishment: a monument to Satori’s success, but he knew he didn’t want to celebrate it alone. There would be friends and coworkers and acquaintances and old mentors there, but they weren’t people who really _got_ him. Satori had left all of those people behind in Japan.

But, Wakatoshi was busy chasing his dreams, too. It was a give and take; Wakatoshi couldn’t be there for the premiere of his documentary, Satori couldn’t make it to even a fraction of his games. 

Besides, boiling the mint leaves together with sugar for a syrup would take too long. He should’ve thought of it earlier. He turned back to the cabinet, pushing out a defeated breath.

Satori grabbed the cinnamon, a bottle of roasted cinnamon for an earthy, rustic sweetness. He watched the flecks disappear, dissolving into the creamy liquid until he could smell the gentle spice wafting up to his nose.

Then, he transferred the hot chocolate to a mug and wandered over to his couch. He gathered a few blankets around himself and nestled in, TV remote in one hand, but he could only stare at the black screen. Satori couldn’t think of anything specific he wanted to watch, or even if he wanted any more sound than the noise inside his head to fill the space of his living room.

But what else would he do there? Sit in silence? Scroll mindlessly on his phone? Read? He _could_ read, but he’d left his book across the room the night before and he didn’t really feel like untangling himself and getting it. Satori sighed and turned the TV on, dropping his head into the corner of the couch, ear to the cushion, so he didn’t have to hold it up anymore. He wasn’t one for cable TV so he had to scroll through a couple of different streaming services, but nothing he saw interested him. 

Satori sighed again and tossed the remote down on the couch. He was so… _tired_. And he didn’t know why. He had only had a five mile run that morning, so it wasn’t the exhaustion after his nine or ten mile long weekend runs. Work hadn’t been any more strenuous than usual either.

Satori sipped his hot chocolate contemplatively, but found he had to force himself to swallow it down after a wave of nausea hit him. He lunged forward to put the mug on the coffee table, then drew his blankets around himself tightly. Was he getting _sick_? 

Satori’s thoughts raced. He couldn’t _afford_ to get sick, not with the premiere of his documentary the next day, or with work in the kitchen moving towards a new project. This was the _worst_ time he could get sick, and yet his stupid body couldn’t stop it. He always got sick at the _least_ convenient times, year after year. Satori hated it. He hated it _so much_ , but it didn’t matter what he did to take care of himself, he _always_ got sick. 

Satori choked down a sob. Everything was hitting at once: his _premiere_ , he hadn’t seen Wakatoshi over anything but video chat for _months_ , _work_ was ramping up, he couldn’t stop _thinking_ , he was getting _sick_ , just _everything_. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the tears back, but he could feel them sliding down his face, hot and heavy, dripping on to his fists balled into the blankets. Satori gasped as another sob racked his body and made his stomach clench. 

He threw aside the blankets and stumbled to his bathroom, ignoring how the world spun until he had dropped onto his knees in front of the toilet. The white porcelain mocked him, pristine, inviting him to ruin it as his stomach churned and heaved. But Satori couldn’t get it, whatever “ _it_ ” was that was making him sick, out of him. All he could do was gag and retch and clench the sides of the toilet so hard his knuckles turned white.

Satori’s arms shook on the toilet as his stomach heaved powerfully, a bigger surge than the rest before. He pitched himself forward over the bowl as his body finally afforded him relief from the twisting and writhing of his insides, an acidic pressure rising from the depths of his stomach. Satori reached up with a trembling hand to flush away the waste, then slumped against the wall, listening to the dull roar of the water as it flushed.

He shivered, cold and clammy in his clothes. All he wanted at that moment was for Wakatoshi to gather him up in his steady arms and pull him close against the warmth and comfort of his chest so Satori could be lulled to sleep by the sound of the rhythmic beating of his heart. He always felt so _safe_ in Wakatoshi’s arms, his best friend in any and _all_ regards.

But, it was a little difficult to hold and be held by each other when continents separated them. So difficult that when droughts of contact hit, Satori worried that Wakatoshi didn’t want him anymore. It made him anxious when he sent texts that received no reply, when Wakatoshi declined an invitation to video chat, when he said…he couldn’t make it for the premiere of Satori’s documentary. 

Fresh tears welled up in Satori’s eyes. Maybe that was Wakatoshi’s polite way of telling him he didn’t need Satori anymore, a quiet method to let him fall to the wayside, out of Wakatoshi’s path forward to a future of success. Maybe he was holding Wakatoshi back. Satori didn’t want to do anything reminiscent of _detriment_ to Wakatoshi, but he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , let go so easily.

But it was late for Satori in France, and still too early for Wakatoshi to be awake in Japan, so he figured a text or call at that hour would go unanswered. Best to leave it until a more reasonable hour.

Satori dragged himself to his feet, fighting off another, weaker twist in his stomach and propped himself against the counter. He brushed his teeth, leaning one hand on the edge of the sink and eyes closed to the slow drift of the world around him.

He crawled into bed, yanking a hoodie that he kept on it for when he got cold during the night, out from under his pillows, and put it on over his pajamas. But, Satori still shivered under the sheets and blankets drawn snugly around him and in the sweater, like it was a winter morning run in high school, before they started and his blood and muscles weren’t warmed up yet.

* * *

Satori didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, only that it was well past the time he usually headed out for his morning run, judging by how high the sun had risen in the sky, smudged around the edges by hazy clouds. 

He sat up and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, dropping his hands languidly into his lap when he started to see stars. He still felt terrible, and he was sure he looked it, too, but the bathroom mirror was too far away from his bed to bother finding out. 

He reached for his phone, a slight tremor making his fingers waver, when he heard a knock on the door. It was a solid, sharp series of raps. Probably the postman with a delivery, Satori thought, even if he couldn’t remember if he had ordered anything. He didn’t bother thinking about it too much, though; if it wasn’t the mailman, it was probably a neighbor that needed help getting something down from a high shelf.

Satori picked up his phone from the nightstand and sighed. “Je viens!” he called, _I’m coming_ , as he untangled himself from his bedding, accidentally knocking an old, rather ratty Gengar plush onto the floor in the process. He didn’t bother to pick it up then: he didn’t want to make whoever was at the door wait any longer; that was rude.

He half-ran across his apartment, with something fluttering in his throat, though he wasn’t sure if it was nerves from the thought of talking to the person he was making wait outside the door, or more nausea. Satori hoped it was nerves.

But he was almost to the door, ready to apologize properly, hand mere inches from the handle, when his phone rang. “Shit.” Satori fumbled with the phone to see who it was. If it wasn’t important, he could call back, if it was important, he should answer it before opening the door; talking on the phone right in front of the person at the door seemed even more rude than making them wait a few more minutes.

“Shit!” Satori swore. It was his agent that was managing a lot, more than Satori even knew _needed_ managing, for his documentary. He was good at his job, _really_ good at his job, but he was also a bit of a diva that absolutely didn’t accept being sent to voicemail. He would berate Satori endlessly if he didn’t take his call immediately. 

Satori set one hand on the door handle, taking care to make sure it audibly jiggled so the person on the other side knew he was there, if they couldn’t already hear him through the door, and answered.

“Where the hell are you? You need to be getting ready for the premiere!” The voice on the other end of the line was already tight with anger, on the brink of an outburst.

“I’m…not coming. I feel terrible.” Satori admitted.

“Terrible? Why?”

“I threw up last night. Have a fever, too.” Satori dared to let himself hope his agent would be sympathetic about his condition. Telling people he was _really_ sick usually did the trick.

“Really? That’s just great. _Amazing_.” Satori’s heart sank. He should’ve known his agent wouldn’t be understanding. It just wasn’t in his nature.

“I’m sorry.”

“Just—just do better about taking care of your health, okay? You can’t just _miss_ stuff like this.” From his tone, Satori could tell he didn’t really care about his _health_ , only the obligations he had committed to when he wasn’t feeling like he was going to hurl all over the floor.

“Okay. Sorry. I can try to make the afterparty?” Satori offered. He could try to make things better.

“No, no. Stay home. No need to come now.” The words came out as an exasperated huff.

“Oh. Okay.” Satori deflated.

“Talk to you later.” The edge to the words bit into Satori. He didn’t _mean_ to get sick and ruin things. He never did.

“Yeah. Later. Sorry.”

Satori stared at his screen for a moment after his agent hung up on him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had disappointed him, and the rest of the guests at the premiere by getting sick, but there wasn’t anything he could _do_ about it, not in the timeframe he had left before the start of the event.

But, there was still the responsibility behind the door. Satori shook himself out a little, stuffed his phone into his hoodie pocket, and opened the door with a sheepish smile plastered on. “Je suis désolé, je—” Satori’s apology died on his lips. A man, tall, broad, and well-dressed, stood at his door.

“ _Wakatoshi_?!” Satori stared uncomprehendingly. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Japan! You said you couldn’t come!”

“Yes, Satori. Surprise.” Wakatoshi offered him a simple bouquet of flowers in soft, refreshing whites, pinks, and yellows. Satori gaped at the flowers before bypassing them completely to throw his arms around Wakatoshi’s neck.

“Oh my god, Wakatoshi, I missed you _so much_! So, so, _so_ much.” Satori pressed his face into Wakatoshi’s neck, breathing in his familiar verdant musk.

Wakatoshi guided Satori gently back inside, until they were both in his apartment, then lifted him into a twirling hug that made Satori’s head spin, even at the slow speed. “Ungh. Don’t do that.” Satori buried his face further against Wakatoshi’s steady warmth.

“Are you okay, Satori?” Wakatoshi lifted his chin and stared into Satori’s face, brow furrowed with concern.

“Ha. No. Feel terrible actually. You didn’t hear me on the phone?” Satori jabbed Wakatoshi’s side lightly, jokingly, with a finger.

“You were speaking French.” Wakatoshi said seriously. It was so matter-of-fact, so _Wakatoshi_ , Satori had to laugh. “And you’re sick.”

“A little bit.” Satori pinched his fingers together to emphasize. “But! You’re here now, which means I automatically feel eight hundred percent better!” Satori said it as a joke, but it was more true than he let Wakatoshi know. He had come right in the nick of time, saving Satori from a downward spiral of doubt, in himself, and in their relationship. “Look at you, my miracle boy, my _savior_ coming in at just the right time to work your magic.”

Wakatoshi took Satori’s hand and led him to the couch, casting an investigative eye over the still-full mug of hot chocolate that had been left on the coffee table the night before, but ultimately ignoring it in favor of settling Satori comfortably into the blankets. He kneeled in front of the couch when Satori had finally nestled in, taking both his hands in his own, covering Satori’s pale, trembling ones with his, broad and stalwart, and meeting Satori’s eyes. “No, Satori. You’re my savior. _My_ miracle. I haven’t been there enough for you. But, you’ve always stayed true.” He smiled gently, and reached up to brush the tears away from Satori’s cheeks. “I know you’re behind me every step of my journey. You’re in everything I do. That’s why I actually came here with two surprises. This one, but I don’t think going to the premiere is happening anymore, and,” Wakatoshi squeezed Satori’s hands, “to tell you I’ve signed with a team in Poland.”

Satori gasped. “ _Poland_? That’s like, a two and a half hour flight from here! That’s _so_ close!” He squealed and hugged Wakatoshi again, who wrapped his arms around Satori’s back in return.

“Hopefully we’ll be able to see each other more frequently this way.” Wakatoshi murmured, stroking circles into Satori’s back.

“Are you kidding?” Satori laughed. “I’ll move to Poland, too, Wakatoshi, don’t tempt me!”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it. But, for now, let me take care of you.” Satori leaned back and gazed down at Wakatoshi with a soft smile. 

“I love you, miracle boy.”

“I love you, too, Satori, my miracle.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry about the parts in French. I don’t speak it and I apologize if I butchered it, but I did try my best to make it natural, so if I failed in that endeavor, I am sincerely sorry.


End file.
